


Though the Seasons Change So Quickly (Keep Them Buried In My Heart)

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Closeted Character, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi-Era, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Post-The X Factor Era, Protective Siblings, Sibling Love, Solo Artist Harry, Take Me Home Tour, The X Factor Era, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:52:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: A series of moments of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years, from the very beginning to the present, through the perspective of those around them. It's beautiful and it's brutal, it's awe-inspiring and it's awful - it is what it is.~*~"He’s special, Gem," Harry says. "He’s different. Different from anyone else I’ve ever known. I think-”Gemma holds up a hand. “Slow down, buddy,” she says. “You’ve only known him a few months.”“I know,” Harry says again, his fingers tugging at the designs embroidered in the blanket. “But it’s still true.”Gemma studies him for a long moment. It’s interesting, she thinks. She’s never seen him like this -– not really. He’s almost glowing, a smile constantly either present or hiding just below the surface, and while it could just be the band as a whole making him so happy, she somehow doesn’t think so.





	Though the Seasons Change So Quickly (Keep Them Buried In My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweariwouldnt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/gifts).



> This was very fun to write, and it was really interesting to try to get into the heads of all the different people. They've been through so much, both good and bad -- but everything they've gone through, they've done it together. And I just... you know. Have all the feels.  
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from "Seventeen" by Alessia Cara.

They’re not subtle, Aiden thinks. They’re not subtle at all. They think they are, but they aren’t.

It takes two weeks before they officially tell the rest of the house, but it takes at most two days before everyone knows anyway. And apparently the rest of them are much better at being subtle, because Louis and Harry seem astonished when their pronouncement is greeted by a chorus of, “We know.”

It’s not that Aiden minds, of course. He’s happy for them. But after the time he walks into the kitchen to find them snogging against the fridge, their shirts discarded on the floor – well, he starts making more noise than usual whenever he’s about to enter a room. And after hearing some… interesting sounds emerging from a storage closet, he starts knocking on those doors before opening them.

Still, they’re good kids. They’re dedicated, hardworking, and unceasingly friendly, and seeing the way they look at each other always makes him smile.

It’s funny, he thinks sometimes, how two people who are so different should fit together so well. Louis is loud and energetic, always cracking jokes or pulling pranks, whereas Harry is quieter, more focused and thoughtful. Louis is the life of the party – and when he’s around, life _is_ the party. Harry more likely to be somewhere off to the side, in a smaller group, chatting and watching the action around him.

But at the same time, they’re so similar. They both have the same drive, the same passion, the same determination. They both get the same look in their eyes when they’re working on something particularly challenging, like they won’t let it beat them. They both have an energy about them that says they were born to be onstage.

Aiden envies them, really. Not that they’re in love – well he envies that a little, but mostly he just envies that they have each other to rely on. It can be lonely up onstage all by himself, everyone looking at him nothing to redirect their attention. He has to be ‘on’ all the time, has to do everything by himself. With One Direction, they can trade off, they can support each other, they can play off each other and draw from each other’s energy. He envies that.

And he envies that they’re so damn _talented._ When he’d first heard that the judges had put together a group from the soloists – he’s been pissed, honestly; thought it was unfair. He still thinks that, but it’s hard to resent the boys when they’re all so kind and friendly and helpful. And after all, they didn’t ask for it. But while he might be more talented than any one of them individually (and he’s not at all certain that he is), it’s much harder to compete with them combined.

All five of them fit together so much better than five strangers have any right to, but even through that unnatural connection it was still immediately clear that something was different with Harry and Louis. And while he might be a little bit jealous, he’s mostly happy for them. Because who couldn’t be happy, seeing the way they look at each other, the way they light up when they’re around each other? Aiden’s no monster.

He does wish they were a little less possessive, however.

Like when they’re filming a Question Time video – it’s chaotic and ridiculous as usual, and for some reason there aren’t enough seats and they’re all squished together and Louis winds up in his lap. Which would be fine, except that Harry is sitting directly to his right, sending him increasingly dirty looks. As if sharing a chair is somehow cheating, or Louis is going to decide that Aiden’s lap is so comfortable that he doesn’t need a boy he looks at like the sun anymore.

Teenagers.

Aiden is a teenager, so he really shouldn’t be judging, except… well, he is. A little.

And he really should think things through before doing them, except… well, he doesn’t.

For some reason he decides it would be a good idea to give Louis a peck on the cheek halfway through the video. He expects the others to laugh, expects Louis to call him a dick, expects Harry to give him another dirty look before laughing too.

He should really have known better.

Harry’s gaze is almost murderous, but with a hungry light that makes Aiden feel more than a little perturbed. Louis quickly skips ahead to the next question, despite the fact that they hadn’t gotten through the responses yet, and the tension in the room skyrockets.

He tries to mouth, “I’m sorry,” but Harry’s gaze doesn’t falter. Some of the anger fades, however, replaced by sorrow.

“Just… don’t,” Harry says softly. “Because I can’t.”

Aiden nods. He won’t do it again, he tells himself. For their sake, and for his safety.

He somehow keeps managing to do it again – touching Harry’s leg and making Louis look like he’s considering chopping off the hand at the wrist, or fixing Louis’ collar and making Harry look like he wants to throttle Aiden with his own bowtie – but he tries not to.

Sometimes.

But even when he is messing with them, by accident or out of mischief, he truly does wish them well. It’s hard not to, when they’re so kind and so happy together and just such genuinely good people. He hopes they’ll be able to make it through. Normally he’d look at two teenagers – young and in love – and scoff. But something about Harry and Louis feels different. Something about them feels real, and solid, and genuine.

Maybe he’s just a hopeless romantic at heart after all. Nobody has to know.

~*~

Jay knew before Louis said a word. She couldn’t say exactly how she knew – a mother’s intuition, perhaps. But the second that Louis said he wanted to bring a friend to lunch when she came by to visit – she knew.

“Of course,” she said simply. “The more the merrier.”

She didn’t ask questions. Louis would tell her when he was ready.

When she saw Harry standing alongside Louis, she was perhaps less surprised than she expected. It made sense, in retrospect, really. She’d known the two of them were close, much closer than might be expected for the amount of time they’d known each other. She’d put it down to unusual circumstances, and to Louis’ outgoing nature, but this – this explained a lot.

Both boys climb into the backseat of the car, and she smiles warmly at them. “Hello, Harry,” she says. “Louis didn’t tell me you were the friend he was bringing.”

Harry glances over at Louis. “You didn’t?”

“You didn’t ask,” Louis tells Jay. “You just said yes.”

“I did at that,” Jay says, laughing. “I trust your judgement. And it seems I was right.”

The comment is intended to put them both at ease, but she can’t tell if it does. She sees them exchange a glance in the rearview mirror, and after another look she’s eighty percent sure they’re holding hands across the seat, but she says nothing further.

Instead, she asks them about how they’re settling in at the X Factor House, and how rehearsals are going, keeping the conversation light as they drive to the restaurant.

“Getting on well with everyone?” she asks, and Harry mutters something she doesn’t catch but that makes Louis’ ears turn bright red.

“Everyone is really nice,” Louis says after a moment. “I thought it might be kind of cutthroat, but it’s not at all.”

“Everyone takes it seriously,” Harry adds, “but at the end of the day we’re a bunch of people with the same dream, and the same chance to make it happen. It’s hard to dislike people who are so much like you, and it’s hard to not feel happy for them.”

Jay smiles. “Hold onto that boys,” she tells them. “It may not always be like that – here or elsewhere.”

They both nod seriously. She smiles again, pulling into a parking space. “Here we are!”

She unbuckles her seatbelt, opening the door of the car when she hears Louis speak. “Mum – wait.”

She turns obediently, shutting the door and twisting to face him. “Yes, love? What is it?”

He says nothing for a moment, a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. She pretends not to notice his momentary glance at Harry, her smile soft and warm. At last, Louis shakes his head. “Nevermind,” he says.

Jay pauses. “Are you sure?” she asks.

Louis nods. “Let’s eat,” he says. “I’m famished.”

Lunch is simple fare – just a sandwich shop, with some crisps Jay brought in the car – but it’s warm and it’s tasty. Louis leads them to a booth tucked away in a corner, and they spread the food out over the table and dig in.

“So, Harry,” Jay says after they’ve had a few bites. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

Harry tries to swallow quickly, and winds up choking on his sandwich. Louis pats him on the back as he coughs. Jay pushes his soda closer, but he just waves it off. “‘m fine,” he says. “Sorry, I – sorry.”

“No need to apologize, dear,” she says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Louis’ hand is still resting on Harry’s back, his face concerned. Interesting.

“No – it’s not – nevermind.” Harry shakes his head. “Um, I’m sixteen, from Holmes Chapel – but I guess you knew that already, since Louis came to stay and all.”

Jay chuckles. “I did, at that,” she says. “What’s your favourite subject in school? Or what made you interested in auditioning for the X Factor?”

This last one seems to perk Harry right up – he straightens in his seat, light coming into his eyes. “I’ve always loved performing,” he says. “Even when it was, like, just little performances at school. And I loved music, and singing. I was in a band in school, and we played a few gigs – won my school’s Battle of the Bands competition – I just loved it. Auditioning seemed like the logical step for if I wanted to try to do this professionally. And so far, it’s paying off.”

He glances at Louis, a small smile playing over his lips. Louis’ return smile is equally warm, and Jay can’t suppress a smile of her own.

The rest of lunch passes quickly, and Jay finds Harry to be charming and personable. He’s nervous, but he quickly warms up to her, and by the end they’re all laughing at his impressions of Simon.

When Jay parks at the House, she climbs out to give Louis a hug. She offers another to Harry, who looks surprised, but then accepts.

“It was lovely to meet you, Harry,” she says, meaning it. “I think you’re going to accomplish some wonderful things.”

Harry’s cheeks go pink. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says.

Louis is looking at her oddly, and she thinks she knows why, but she says nothing. A moment later, he tells Harry to head inside; he’ll be right there. Harry hesitates for a moment, then agrees. Once he’s out of sight, Louis turns to Jay.

“You guessed, didn’t you?”

She smiles. “I did.”

Louis shakes his head. “You’re spooky sometimes, you know that?”

Jay laughs. “A mother always knows,” she says. “But I knew you would tell me when you were ready.” There’s a pause for a moment, before Jay speaks again. “I like him,” she says. “I think he’ll be good for you, and you for him.”

Louis glances up at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles again. “You look very happy together.”

Louis nods. “We are,” he says. There’s a flicker of something in his face that she can’t quite read, and she feels a flash of concern, but she reins it in. He’ll tell her when he’s ready, she reminds herself. It’s a policy that has stood her in good stead for all her children thus far, and she’s never had cause to regret it.

“I should be going,” Louis says at last. “But – thank you. For everything.”

He hugs her again, and she smiles. “Of course,” she says. “I love you, Lou.”

“I love you too.”

She brushes the hair out of his face, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Tell him he has my blessing,” she says, letting him go. “And – tell him to call me Jay.”

~*~

The first time Gemma properly meets Louis, they’re on the X Factor Tour. It’s after a show – it still amazes her every time she sees them perform. Partly because _that’s her baby brother_ up there, the idiot who once ran around in her bra announcing that he was Ariel, who let her practice makeup on him, who was an annoying little shit sometimes but also the person she’d always want in her corner.

He’s her baby brother, and he’s up on a stage performing to thousands of people.

But it also always amazes her because they’re so fucking good? A year ago – less, really – they were five complete strangers, but she’d never guess it to look at them. It’s not that they’re polished – they aren’t – but rather that their voices blend together so well, and they’re always so in sync and aware of each other, responding to each other’s movements and energy. It’s that they look like they’ve been doing this for years, like they belong onstage – like they were always meant to be together.

They’re buzzing when they tumble off the stage, five vibrating balls of exultant energy, and Gemma is smiling so wide her face hurts. “You were amazing,” she whispers into Harry’s curls as she pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m so fucking proud.”

Harry laughs. “Don’t let Mum catch you swearing,” he teases.

Gemma laughs too. “I think she’d let it go this time,” she says.

When they return to the hotel that night, the parents gather downstairs for a few drinks. Louis rounds up his sisters with practiced ease, herding them into the lift and announcing that whoever is ready for bed first gets to choose the bedtime story. He waves to Harry and Gemma as the doors slide shut, one of the twins hanging off each leg and pleading for their favourite.

“Should we give him a hand?” Gemma asks as they step into their own lift.

Harry shakes his head. “He’s really good with them,” he says, his voice fond. “And they love him to bits.”

“They’re not the only ones, are they?” Gemma says softly.

Harry’s face flushes. “No,” he says. “They’re not.”

They’re silent until they reach the room where Gemma, Anne, and Robin are staying for the night – Harry has a room upstairs, on the floor with the rest of the tour. But it will be crowded up there now, and loud, with the show freshly over and the electricity of performance still running through everyone’s veins.

Gemma unlocks the door, swinging it wide as Harry step inside. He surveys the room – Gemma’s not sure what for; it’s a plain hotel room that probably looks no different from his room upstairs – but he smiles.

Harry crosses the room to the farther of the two beds – Gemma’s bed – and flings himself onto it. The mattress bounces beneath him and he sighs happily. “It smells like home,” he says.

Gemma flops onto the bed beside him, the mattress bouncing again, and he giggles. They lie there for a minute, just staring at the ceiling and listening to each other breathe. At last, Gemma reaches out a hand and ruffles Harry’s hair. “I missed you, squirt,” she says.

He worms closer, tucking himself into her side. “I missed you too.”

“And,” Gemma adds, “it sounds like I’ve missed a few other things.”

Harry ducks his head, smiling. “Yeah, I guess.” He pushes himself up and sits back against the headboard, tucking a pillow behind him. “Is this the part where you grill me?”

Gemma stretches out along the bed, tickling Harry’s feet until he moves them. “I’m your big sister, aren’t I?” she says. “It’s my job. Don’t worry, he’s next.”

“Gem!” Harry throws another pillow at her, and she catches it. “Be nice.”

“He has nothing to worry about if his intentions are pure,” she says. “Besides, he’s a big brother. He gets it.”

“Lottie is only twelve.”

“I guarantee you he’s already told her that he’ll be interrogating all her boyfriends,” Gemma replies. “Well, either that or that she’s not allowed to date until she’s twenty. Or both.”

Harry chuckles. “Maybe,” he says.

There’s a pause. Harry tugs at his bottom lip, and Gemma realizes with a start that he’s nervous. She frowns, guilt flashing through her. “You know I just want you safe and happy, right?”

Harry nods. “I know,” he says. A soft smile passes over his face. “It’s just… he’s special, Gem. He’s different. Different from anyone else I’ve ever known. I think-”

Gemma holds up a hand. “Slow down, buddy,” she says. “You’ve only known him a few months.”

“I know,” Harry says again, his fingers tugging at the designs embroidered in the blanket. “But it’s still true.”

Gemma studies him for a long moment. It’s interesting, she thinks. She’s never seen him like this – not really. He’s almost glowing, a smile constantly either present or hiding just below the surface, and while it could just be the band as a whole making him so happy, she somehow doesn’t think so.

“Does he take care of you?” she asks at last.

Harry rolls his eyes, which she honestly expected. “I’m a big boy,” he tells her. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” Gemma says. “And yet, it is still my job as your big sister to worry about you.” She pokes his foot. “Also, you’re only seventeen years old, so don’t go getting ahead of yourself, _kid._ Answer the question.”

Harry laughs, and his face takes on a soft, distant expression. “He does,” he says. “He always makes sure I’m comfortable, always cheers me up when I’m feeling down – always _knows_ when I’m feeling down, almost before I do. He reminds me to take care of myself. He makes me happy, Gem, and he makes me feel safe.”

Gemma smiles. “And you?” she asks. “Do you take care of him?”

Harry laughs. “You’d think that as the older one he wouldn’t need as much,” he says. “But Louis can’t cook at all, and he’s an absolute mess. No idea how to clean anything. I don’t know what he’d do without me.” His face softens. “But I also – like, he tries not to show it, but – he worries. If he’s good enough, like. And he is – he so is – but. He sometimes forgets to believe it.”

Seeing the look in his eyes, affection and loyalty and admiration all rolled into one – Gemma just hopes he’s right. She hopes that Louis really is everything Harry thinks he is, everything he wants him to be. She hopes this isn’t their parents’ relationship.

A knock on the door makes her sit up, startled. Harry quickly bounds to his feet, pausing for only a moment to check the peephole before he swings the door open. Standing just outside, his hands tucked in his pockets, is Louis. He gives Gemma a small smile and a wave as he steps into the room.

“Hullo, Gemma,” he says. “Harry’s told me a lot about you.”

Gemma blinks hard, still trying to catch her brain up to speed. “Likewise,” she manages.

Harry laces his fingers through Louis’, looking up at him with a softness that makes Gemma’s breath catch. The smile Louis gives him in return is equally soft, and Gemma feels almost like she’s intruding, like she’s watching something private, not meant for her eyes.

It only lasts a moment before they look back to her, but in that instant she already knows that Louis will be everything she could want for her little brother. She knows he will be strength and softness and support, that he will be gentle and kind and steadfast. She doesn’t know how, but she _knows._ And then she smiles, tears pricking at her eyes, happiness and pride swelling in her chest until she can barely breathe.

Harry and Louis sit down on the second bed, across from Gemma. Their hands are still tightly interlocked, and she can’t decide which one looks more nervous.

“You look like you’re going off to war,” she says, trying to lighten the mood. They both laugh, but the tension in their bodies doesn’t change. “Hey,” she says gently. “I’m not here to be scary or intimidating. I just want my little brother to be safe and happy.”

“So do I,” Louis says, without a moment of hesitation.

Gemma smiles again. “Then we should all get along just fine,” she says. “Please, relax. You make me feel like some medieval torturer – like you expect me to bring out the thumbscrews any moment.” They laugh again, more genuinely this time, and Gemma nods. “See? No suffering required.”

“Sorry,” Louis says. “I guess – I’m just thinking of how I would feel if I were in your position, if it were my sisters.”

Gemma gives Harry a look. “Told you,” she says. “Big siblings are all the same.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You mean annoying?” he says, but he’s smiling. Gemma throws another pillow at him anyway.

“I assume you understand the deal, then?” she says to Louis. “You treat him right – like you’d want your sisters treated – and if you break his heart, I hunt you down and make you sorry?”

“Gemma!”

“Oh, all right, if you break his heart, I bring him ice cream and call you rude names.”

Louis looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Understood.”

“Excellent.” She sits back against the headboard. “So – MasterChef or Great British Bake Off?”

~*~

Niall hates watching them sometimes.

He loves it, too; loves getting to watch what he has (unironically) (on more than one occasion) referred to as “the greatest love story of our generation.”

But he hates it.

Because this isn’t a fairytale. This isn’t a rom com. And sometimes he’s painfully worried that this really is Romeo and Juliet, and that the only way it can end is if it ends badly.

The press junkets are awful. They’re always awful – mindless, boring, repetitive, eternal – but they’re even worse when there’s a story to spin and a lie to sell, and Niall wants to cry and he’s not even the one lying. He knows Harry cries, and he knows Louis pretends not to. He knows that when they emerge from the dressing room with damp eyes and blotchy cheeks, everyone pretends not to notice.

He’d been naïve, when they started; had thought that all their problems would disappear when they made it big. He hadn’t realized that making it big only meant bigger problems. But even if he had, this would never have been one of the ones he expected.

The press junkets are awful, but the stunting is worse. Niall has lost count of the number of times he’s stayed up with one boy or the other, as the person they want to walk down the aisle with walks down the street holding hands with someone else. He keeps an emergency kit packed by the door – movies, popcorn, takeaway menus, Nyquil, and chocolate. He goes through a lot of chocolate.

He does it gladly, but he wishes it weren’t necessary. Not as much as they do, obviously, but – he wishes anyway. He wishes that he could somehow carry some of the burden for them, but he can’t.

And then there are the meetings. It always feels slightly like an execution squad, the five of them lined up on one side, however many marketing executives and project managers and goodness knows what other stupid, fancy titles on the other. They might have different names or titles, but they’re all the same beast, all bloodsucking and simpering and absolutely certain that they know best. Not that it matters either way, since they always win. They hold all the power.

“We’re concerned,” the short, fat Beast says, steepling his pudgy fingers in front of him. “The rumours aren’t dying down as we’d hoped, despite your public girlfriends.”

“You mean the _truth_ isn’t dying down, despite our _fake beards?_ ” Louis says, his voice scornful. Niall wants to tell him not to make it worse, but he can’t. Louis has earned the right to be scornful. And he’s not really sure how it could possibly _be_ worse.

“The details are irrelevant,” the Beast says with an indifferent shrug. “But we need to get rid of the rumours. We had hoped that linking you to those young women would be sufficient, but that does not seem to have been the case. So we think it’s time to change tactics.”

Niall shivers. The Beasts always refer to themselves with the collective “we,” which just creeps him out. It’s like they’re a multi-headed monster – a hydra, perhaps; that would fit; even if you could get rid of one, three more would replace them.

“You two have proven incapable of hiding your… _affection_ when you interact with each other.” He says the word like it’s repulsive, and Niall wonders for far from the first time if these people are even human. “Therefore, on the upcoming tour, you simply will not.”

There’s a brief pause. “Will not what?” one of them asks, Niall isn’t sure who. Might have been him, really. He was certainly wondering the same thing; he suspects they all were.

The Beast gives a tight smile. “Will not interact,” he says.

It takes Niall a moment to process the words, and another to realize that he heard them correctly. His jaw drops. “You have got to be fucking kidding,” he says without thinking.

The Beast gives him a condescending look, but Niall is too shocked to be offended. “We are not ‘kidding,’” he says. “By removing the source of the problem, we remove the problem.”

“You’re removing everything!” Niall explodes. “You’re removing the fucking _brand_ you always seem to care so much about – the one where we’re five best friends who get to live our dreams. You want us to be three best friends and two enemies? That’s like chopping off your entire leg to fix a blister on your toe.”

“You have left us no choice,” the Beast replies, his tone clipped.

Louis touches Niall’s shoulder. “Don’t,” he says softly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Quite right, Mr. Tomlinson.” The Beast nods sagely. “Things will go easier if you comply willingly.”

Louis glares daggers at him. “I will do what I have to,” he says. “But do not confuse coercion for willingness.”

“It hardly matters,” the Beast says, shrugging again. “So long as you comply.”

Niall can hear Louis’ teeth grinding together, and he winces. “We will,” Louis says at last. “Provided the number of pap walks is kept to a minimum, and we get a say in any press coverage.”

Niall is impressed. He forgets, sometimes, that Louis is the oldest – he’s the silly one, the irresponsible one, the childish one – but he’s also become an accomplished negotiator over the past few years, and rarely agrees to anything without demanding something in return. He is the unofficial official spokesperson of the band, when it comes to dealing with management, and he’s _good_ at it. Niall half expects to see a flash of respect in the Beast’s eyes, but of course the only thing there is impatience and disdain.

“As you wish,” the Beast says. “I presume you want that in writing?”

“I do.”

“Very well.” He stands, though his height hardly changes. The rest of the executives rise with him – again, Niall wonders if they’re not some kind of demented hivemind. “The requisite paperwork will be delivered to all of you within the week,” the Beast says, picking up his briefcase. “Sign it.”

And then they’re gone, leaving just the five of them alone in the giant board room, which suddenly feels far too large. They shuffle closer together on instinct, sitting in silence for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers at last. “I wish-”

“Don’t be,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ knee. “You’re the only reason we get anything at all in these disasters.”

Louis says nothing.

“Will you be able to do it?” Liam asks, softly. “Not interact, I mean – I’ve never seen you – I mean, you’re just always… in parallel. In orbit. You don’t even think about it, you just… are. I don’t know how well you’ll be able to stop that.”

“We’ll have to,” Louis says, his voice bleak. “We don’t have a choice.”

~*~

They’re smiling as they walk offstage. They take their bows, they wave to the crowd, they blow kisses, and they smile.

But as soon as they’re out of sight, it drains away. Lottie can see the mask drop from where she stands, just a short distance from the stage entrance. Their faces, their bodies – everything just… droops.

Harry takes a faltering step towards Louis, who turns to him, and they fall into each other, arms wrapped tight and heads tucked down against a wind that only they can feel, but that threatens to sweep them away.

Lottie looks away. They get so little privacy, so little time together (much less alone). It’s not much – especially since there are plenty of others around – but it’s what she can do.

But she also can’t bear to look. It kills her, is the thing. She’s seen what the past few years have done to them. From a distance, at first, hearing Louis talk or seeing the media coverage (even the lies are at least informative about some things). But now it’s not distant, it’s not secondhand, it’s not a description, it’s right in front of her. It’s her own brother, clinging to his boyfriend like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat in a sea of chaos and sharks, tears rolling down his cheeks just minutes after spending the better part of three hours living his younger self’s dream.

It’s still his dream, she knows. He still loves it, they both do. But there are moments where the line between dream and nightmare becomes paper-thin, and sometimes she wonders if he might not be better off without it.

Not that it matters, she supposes. If they had any say in the matter, everything would already be different.

She sees Louis pull away from Harry, sees his fingers trace featherlight over Harry’s face. He’s told her before, on a particularly rough day after a full afternoon of stunting and paparazzi, that sometimes all that keeps him going – keeps him from falling apart – is holding onto the memory of Harry’s face.

But now Harry’s face is what is making him fall apart. His fingers brush the mark where the can hit, and Harry flinches. Louis pulls his hand away.

“I’m sorry,” Lottie hears him whisper. “That looks – makeup’s gonna hate them.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

Some might think it odd that Harry is asking Louis, when he’s the one with a giant bruise blooming on his face, but this is how it has always been with them.

Louis just laughs bleakly. “I hate them more than makeup.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says.

Louis looks down. “I just wish-”

He stops himself abruptly, as if not saying the words will mean he doesn’t wish it, as if it can somehow make it hurt less. But he doesn’t need to say it; Harry just nods. “I know,” he says.

Lottie knows too, or at least, she thinks she does. She doesn’t have the same relationship with Louis as Harry does, but he is her brother, and after close to two decades, she can read him pretty well.

There are two things causing him pain. One is Harry’s pain – that one is simple, even obvious.

But the other is that he was helpless to do anything. He couldn’t go to him, couldn’t check on him, couldn’t ask if he was okay – he could barely look at him. He couldn’t do anything at all to help. He wasn’t _allowed_.

The first will ease in time – bruises heal, as Harry and his uncoordinated limbs well know. But the helplessness… Lottie wishes she could tell them that someday that will end too, but the more she sees of Simon Cowell and his poisonous grip on them, the more she wonders. And if _she’s_ wondering… it’s only been a year and a half for her, but for them it’s been more than five.

She feels helpless too, sometimes. She wishes she could take their pain away, could carry their burden for them. But she can’t.

Still, it always gives her hope seeing them like this. Together, that is. Tired, beaten down, but still unbroken and unbowed. They stand a little taller next to each other, and their breathing is relaxed and even and sometimes eerily synchronized. Harry smiles a little more, and Louis is a little bit calmer, and they’re just _better_ for having each other there.

But as much as she hates to interrupt them, as much as she wants to just let them be, there is still work to be done.

She steps out from where she stands, tucked away amidst the maze of backstage – boxes and piping and props. She sees the moment Harry spots her, pulling away for just a moment before relaxing. She hates it – hates that their first instinct is to move away from each other, to pretend that they aren’t in love. She knows she can’t possibly hate it as much as they do.

Louis turns at Harry’s movement, and gives Lottie a tired smile. “Hey, Lots,” he says. “Enjoy the show?”

“I always do,” she says. She can see him trying to force energy into his smile, and she touches his shoulder gently. “You don’t have to do this,” she says. “It’s just me. You don’t have to pretend. I get it.”

Louis sighs. “I know,” he says. “I guess it’s just habit.” He smiles crookedly. “Gotta take care of my little sister, don’t I?”

“You do take care of me,” she assures him. “You always do. But tonight, let me take care of you, okay?”

Louis looks like he might argue, but he’s interrupted by a massive yawn. They all laugh, and Louis shakes his head. “All right,” he says. “I know when I’m beaten.”

Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ waist, smiling as Louis leans against him. “Did Lou send you?” he asks.

“You know it,” Lottie says. “Gotta take off the makeup, clean out those pores.”

“If you say exfoliate one more time,” Louis mutters, “I am disinheriting you both.”

Lottie and Harry both laugh. “Come on, love,” Harry says. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go to bed.”

Louis yawns again. “Fine,” he says. He rubs his face with one hand. “It’s like having two extra mums. I mean, honestly.”

“You love Mum,” Lottie points out as they start walking.

Louis smiles. “Exactly,” he says.

~*~

James strides down the hallway to the dressing rooms.  There’s always plenty to do before a taping, but he has a few minutes to spare, and he wants to check in on Harry before things get rolling. It’s a big deal, he knows – for both of them – but he has a really good feeling about it.

James knocks twice on the dressing room door and pushes it open. “Harry, I wanted to – oh, hello Louis.”

“Hey yourself, James,” Louis says. He’s sitting on Harry’s lap, one hand buried in Harry’s hair. He doesn’t bother to move at James’ arrival.

James hesitates a moment in the doorway. “You boys are decent, right?” he asks, just to be certain.

They both laugh. “All clothes are on,” Harry assures him. “Louis was just… helping me to relax.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a euphemism for something filthy,” James says, his eyes dancing. “Anyways, I was just stopping by to drop off the final notes for tonight.”

Harry straightens, looking as though he intends to rise, but is prevented by the Louis on his lap. James chuckles and steps closer, handing Harry the folded sheaf of papers.

“You’re going to kill it tonight,” James says as Harry looks through them. “Thanks for choosing to do this with me. I’m sure you had plenty of other offers.”

“You’ve been a good friend,” Harry says. “We’re grateful for that. This is just repaying the favour. And it’s more comfortable this way, anyway.”

There’s another knock on the door, and they turn to see a young woman with a clipboard and a headset standing in the entrance. Anita is one of the assistant stage managers, and as always she projects an air of calm and control, even now, barely an hour before taping begins. “Hello Mr. Corden, Mr. Tomlinson.” She shows no surprise at the additional presence in the dressing room. On second thought, it really isn’t surprising anyways, so why should she? “Mr. Styles, makeup is ready for you.”

Harry sighs, tucking the papers into his pocket. “Sorry, babe, but you’re going to have to get off, now.”

“With all these people watching?” Louis says, feigned shock in his voice and a wicked gleam in his eye. “Seems indecent.”

Anita looks briefly shocked, then sighs, though her smile makes it clear she’s more fond than exasperated. It’s hard not to like Louis, and even harder not to like Harry. Not that James has ever really tried.

Harry just chuckles, unfazed. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“You kind of did,” James agrees. “Louis, lovely to see you-”

“Likewise,” Louis says. He slides off of Harry’s lap, pushing himself to his feet. “Actually, if you don’t mind – could I tag along with you?”

“Are you sure?” James says. “It won’t be very interesting.”

“You say that like you aren’t one of the most interesting people I know,” Louis says. “Myself excluded, obviously. Besides, Hazza will be busy, so I’ll be bored.”

James shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says.

Harry gives Louis a quick kiss before following Anita out of the room. “Love you,” he calls. “And – thanks. For everything.”

James gives Louis a sidelong look as they make their own way out of the back rooms. Louis’ hands are tucked into his pockets, his brow furrowed slightly.

“He’s more nervous than he shows,” Louis says after a minute. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s even telling me.”

James nods. “You’d think after so many years it would go away,” he says. “But I still get nervous most nights.”

“It’s not that,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Well, not entirely. The performing is one thing, but this – it’s just totally new. It’s _solo._ The last time he performed as a solo artist was… well, when he auditioned for X Factor.”

James blinks, astonished. “You’d never think it to see him,” he says. “He’s got everything you’d expect from a soloist.”

“I know this and you know this,” Louis says. “I think even he knows it, sometimes. But it’s still nerve-wracking.” He grimaces. “I wish I could help.”

“You do,” James says without a moment’s hesitation. “You do help. It’s not your job to take it away, you know. You’re there for him; that’s enough.”

Louis smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “I guess I’m just nervous too. I want this to go well.”

“It will,” James promises. “The world is gonna love Harry Styles. Plenty of them already do.” He nudges Louis with his elbow. “You must be very proud.”

“So proud,” Louis agrees. A quick glance shows James that his eyes are shining, a smile spreading across his lips and threatening to take over his whole face. “God, just… like Jamaica was great. Seeing him writing, and working with the other writers, seeing him try out his own style – I mean, it was there with 1D but it was always more of a compromise between us. This is all him.” He shakes his head. “But seeing him onstage is so different. It’s electric.”

“He was born to be onstage,” James agrees. “But he’s here because of you.”

Louis looks up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” he asks. “Just – because you and I knew each other?”

James shakes his head. “You made him who he is,” he says. “He had all that potential, but he wasn’t ready. That’s why he didn’t get through as a soloist – he’d never have made it. He was too… well, you remember how nervous he was at the beginning. And how hard he took it when things went poorly.”

Louis winces. James knows he doesn’t like to remember, but he needs Louis to recognize how much he’s shaped Harry’s success.

“You taught him not to be afraid,” he says, pulling them both to a stop in the middle of the hallway. “You taught him that the rest of the world doesn’t get to tell him who he is, or who he should be. You taught him that it didn’t matter what other people thought. And I think he taught you the same things.”

Louis looks down at the floor, but he’s smiling. “He did,” he says. “It’s hard to remember sometimes.”

“But he believes in you,” James reminds him as they start walking enough. “He’s there for you, always.”

Louis nods. “He does,” he agrees. “He is. And that’s enough. It’s all I could ever ask for.”


End file.
